Hounds
When first approached, their
tails gently thump thump thump
yet I have watched these hounds
shred deer to bone licked
clean by ferocious tongues.
Sleeping, they seem no more
than lanky pups, glittering
canines concealed, but virile musk
urges them awake, famished,
no longer kenneled in dreams.
Thank you to the editors of California Quarterly for first publishing “Hounds.”
I am a big fan of your poetry. It fascinates me how people, animals, policies, institutions can appear benign and even helpful but in truth, they can be something much different than that.
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